Last night: proof that Coincidence is much more than a fleeting visitor in my life. Picture it: roommate's-friend's-friend = different-friend's-exboyfriend's-bestfriend = cute-boy-I-met-dancing-months-ago = cute-boy-I-chatted-with-for-an-hour-before-we-realized-we-had-already-met. Yes, the equals sign denotes that each of those descriptors apply to the same person.

He is also, apparently, a scribe on Diaryland. My first instinct is to fear for my anonymity -- I hardly feel comfortable talking about my reaction to (re)meeting someone whose company I so thoroughly enjoyed, when he may well be reading about it. We do prize our secrets so, after all.

I shall attempt to overcome instincts.

In any case, a trip to Long Island seems to be just what my psyche needed; I feel more well-rested and content today than I have in weeks, which is all the more remarkable considering I only had two hours of sleep last night. It felt very much like a trip back in time to high school days -- a party held because parents were out of town, a fridge full of Coors Light, the suburbs. Of course, this ignores the fact that I never went to any secret parentless parties, much less any that had any kind of beer hanging about, during the entirety of my high school career. Maybe it was a trip back to the past I would have had, were I the kind of kid to smoke behind the gym; a second chance. The journey back home again, by car and by train and by taxi, was illuminated at the last by a sky that should have borne Maxfield Parrish's signature. Or perhaps the three-dimensional cut-out clouds of a Monty Python sketch; I could not tell which. Typical of the evening -- constantly flowing between beauty and farce.